And We Danced
by Kinderby
Summary: Scarlett and Rhett dance.
1. The bazaar

And We Danced

A/N: This will be a collection of stories featuring (can you guess?) Rhett and Scarlett dancing. Chapters will be of varying length, set in various timelines/universes. (I may even take requests!) No interweaving plots; just dancing! (Enough caveats? ) On with the show.

 _Swept away for a moment by chance_

 _And we danced and danced and danced_

— _The Hooters_

* * *

Atlanta, 1862

Dancing was surely the most divine activity on earth, Scarlett thought to herself as Captain Butler deftly moved them about the room. She knew this was scandalous, she knew Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing, and—oh, everybody! were whispering about her even now. She knew Ellen would be as shocked as they were, but oh, just at this moment she could not make herself _care_. This was too wonderful, and she just wouldn't think about them. She would think about them all tomorrow. And a part of her, sifting to the light as Rhett's words shook away the dust, knew that she would not regret this even then.

For too long, she had been shut away, as if life was a vast banquet where she was not allowed to eat. Atlanta had been less stifling than Charleston, but she still felt as though she was caught in a pool of molasses, and if something did not break up the monotony of knitting bandages and wiping soldiers' fevered brows soon, it would close over her head and pull her under.

And just as she had been about to scream tonight, watching Fanny and Maybelle and all those less pretty girls wear color and have fun, that drawling Charlestonian voice had rung out. Without a second thought, or much of a first, she had cried, "Yes I will!" and sped from the booth to take her rightful place. And it was marvelous.

She thought of how Charles had held her when they danced. Captain Butler was quite a bit taller, and _broad_. She had to lean away from him to look up at his face. Funny, to think of Charles now. She almost never thought of him, for all that she lived with his family, carried his name, and had borne his son. She had been married to that boy! She resented him every morning when the black crepe touched her skin, but she did not really _think_ of him. Life was so strange. Charles was taller than she was, of course—most any man was—but the top of her head had reached his chin, she thought. Oh, it was hard to remember. She knew his features, and saw them in Wade, but she couldn't exactly recall Charles' face. Except for his eyes, which had looked at her with such pitiable eagerness. Captain Butler's eyes, she noted, were dark, merry, and gleamed wickedly.

When they danced, Charles held her as if she would break. She had felt as if she would shatter at a touch in those days, but she also remembered from that baffling fog that had surrounded her then that even his hesitance had scraped against her skin. There was no such diffidence in Captain Butler's hold. In fact, on top of how very indecorous their dancing together at all was, his arm was about her entirely too close. She tried to make herself mind.

He danced exquisitely, and when he wasn't reminding her of her humiliation, it was almost as wonderful just to talk with him. He did talk so scandalously. She had realized just tonight that she did not care about the Cause, but her next comprehension was that she could never tell anyone. And now here was this man, this famous Captain Butler, who wasn't received, and didn't care that he wasn't received, and even admitted that the Cause was for fools. It was shocking, and it was like coming up for air after holding your breath longer than either of the Tarleton twins had been able. She smiled up at him, in genuine happiness—the first she had felt in ever so long—at this unexpected kinship.

He turned their bodies in an elegant, measured swoop, and smiled back. Scarlett quickly schooled her features back to some measure of gravity. Dancing was problematic enough, but it wouldn't do for the old hens to think she was enjoying herself quite so much. In response, Captain Butler's roguish smile beamed even wider, and he squeezed her tighter to him again. She blushed, but her mutinous eyes sparkled.


	2. The restaurant

A/N: _*wanders into deserted attic, pulls story off bookshelf, blows dust off it*_

I thought I'd have had more ideas for this story by now, but it hasn't quite worked out that way. Now, though, a silly little plot bunny that pestered me while I work through some angst elsewhere. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The restaurant

 _Present day_

Rhett walked back to their table, taking his time so he could enjoy the sight of Scarlett in a backless dress. Her toe tapped impatiently on the floor, and he grinned.

He trailed his hand lightly up the length of her spine, relishing her startled jump, and her shivering reaction to his touch. "Rhett!" she whispered, angry but _interested_. "Don't _scare_ me like that!"

"You take away all my fun, my dear. I do _so_ enjoy startling you," he said lazily, as he resumed his seat across from her, grinning again. He took her right hand, resting on the table, in his left, playfully tangling her fingers with his own.

" _Rhett_ —" she admonished, blushing at his display of affection, but making no move to discontinue the physical contact.

" _Scarlett—"_ he answered.

"What?" she asked, her light green eyes now perplexed.

"Forgive me, darling," he said theatrically, his right hand over his heart. "I thought we were saying each other's names."

"You are terrible."

"Incorrigible." He murmured, his thumb now brushing softly across her knuckles.

"What am I going to do with you?" she sighed, laughing as he raised her hand and kissed it.

"Darling, I can think of any number of things I'd like you to do with me," he said, his voice a low rumble against her skin. He took her thumb and dragged it across his lips, before ever so gently scraping his teeth across it. She shivered again, her shoulders twitching in further… _interest_.

Her eyes flashed as she pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt positively undressed. She chafed her hands along her arms.

"Darling, are you cold?" He was almost purring now, and she felt the familiar tide of weakness starting to overtake her. Before her brain could be too fogged with lust, she remembered his promise for tonight.

"You are not getting out of this, Rhett Butler. You promised to take me out for dinner _and_ dancing," she said petulantly, wanting to win, but not exactly wanting to delay… things. "Well," she gestured to the detritus of a finished meal between them: a plate with the faintest whisper of chocolate sauce that hadn't yet been taken away, empty wine glasses, and a cork. "Now dancing."

"I believe many cultures would refer to… certain things… as rather a form of dancing."

Scarlett rolled her eyes.

"You wound my vanity, darling. Very well. Dance, we shall." He stood and deposited his napkin on the table, and held out his hand to her. She smirked and took it, but instead of allowing him to lead, she wound her way through the intimately-set tables, pulling him behind her. She rested their joined hands near the curve of her waist, and heard his low chuckle.

When they reached the dance floor, she turned, still grasping his hand. "Did you admire the view?" she asked him, her cheeks dimpling in glee.

He growled in response, pulling her to him, and wrapped his right arm around her. His left hand, still held in hers, he maneuvered around, stroking his thumb up her palm and uncurling her fingers. When she looked up at him, he looked very seriously back at her, a quiet flame glowing brightly in his dark eyes. He placed her hand over his heart, and pressed it into him with his own, before pulling her even closer to his body with his arm. She resisted only the slightest, a faint whisper of, "Rhett, surely this is inappropriate," that came out more dreamy than challenging. She rested her head against his broad chest, as he started to sway them back and forth. The band played Sinatra.

"I am ignorant in the ways of Catholicism, as you well know, my dear." he said, conversationally. "What is the process by which we mere people are canonized?"

Scarlett's brow furrowed at the non-sequitur, but she couldn't bring herself to lift her head from the comforting pillow of his hard chest. "How should I know?" she asked, and felt the rumble of laughter under her ear.

"Well, you will have to find out, and submit my name. I've agreed to dance with you—" At this, he paused, his thumb at her back slowly stroking her skin and finding its way to dip just underneath the edges of fabric. She laughed, ticklish, and squirmed against him. "And you're wearing this outrageous piece of clothing you call a _dress_ , and now you're saying our being close is _inappropriate_. I believe anyone else would have ravished you by now."

"It's not a miracle to dance with me when that's what you _promised_ to do, Rhett," she protested. "And I believe _you_ are the one that picked this dress out." She lifted her head to see his face again. "And—" she stumbled, feeling embarrassed now. "I don't mind being close to you." At this, Rhett threw back his head and laughed. She slapped his chest and hissed, "Oh, shut up. That's not— you know what I mean— I just… well, people will talk!"

He looked back down at her, his face still full of mirth. "You are the pin to the balloon of my ego. I simply must keep you around." Her jaw stuck out, and his face softened. "Darling, do you really care so much? Let them talk. People will say we're in love. I'll spare you my rendition of the song for now, as the mutinous set of your jaw has me pondering my own mortality. Anyway," he sighed dramatically, and his thumb stroked her back, this time just below her shoulder blades. "I will hold you as close as I—as _we_ please." His eyes twinkled. "You are my wife. And we are not at a middle school dance. Even if it costs me my much-deserved sainthood, I will not leave room for the Holy Spirit between us."

He smiled, and his eyes were kind, and Scarlett's heart flipped. His honesty and affection were a potent, heady mixture that left her dizzy and exuberant. She lifted herself onto tiptoes to kiss him, finding the act more difficult than expected when she couldn't stop smiling.

Both of them, probably grinning like fools, she didn't care what people might say just then. She eased herself back down until her heels touched the floor again.

"So, Rhett," she said, as she laid her head back against his chest, "what are some of those things you'd like me to do with you?"

His hand clasping hers tightened, and he lowered his head. He let his lips lightly brush her ear as he whispered. She blushed and laughed as they swayed.

They did not dance much longer. Well, not _that_ kind of dance.


End file.
